DAY OF THE LIVING SCIENTOLOGISTS
If you have a few moments to take out of your dreary day, I’d like to tell you a little story. It’s a horror story of sorts, about something that happened to me long ago that I’ve placed in the deep recesses of my mind—like a crazy quilt of memories that I’ve neatly folded, jammed into a garbage bag and stuffed in the corner of a dry, hot attic and forgotten all about. No, this is not a story about the time I gobbled a bag of mushrooms and drove my Honda Civic into the bowels of a brutal Western New York snowstorm. This story is far more harrowing, disturbing and in some ways, more self-imposed. This is a story about a bizarre encounter I had with The Church of Scientology.
I know. Your palms are sweating already, aren’t they?
The year was 1990, and after a few sweltering hot months to start off the fall semester at Syracuse University, my buddy and roommate Fish and I decided to hitch a ride to Boston with some friends for a little weekend R&R. He was going to see his girlfriend and I was going to see my high school sweetheart who was now schooling at Emerson University. To protect the innocent and faint of heart, let’s call her… Chloe. Fish and I crammed ourselves into the potato chip laden backseat of a hatchback with three other guys and made a bee-line to Beantown where Chloe’s dorm was planted near the Boston Common that had a fantastic direct visual line to Fenway Park and the famous Citgo sign.
Chloe and I hadn’t really talked since we parted for school and the lack of communication between us (mostly by me) had built an awkward tension. I know you’re shocked to hear this, but men (especially 19 year-old men) tend to clam-up when they’re unable to properly explain their feelings—particularly about the future of relationships. When I first saw her in the street after months apart, she smiled sadly and ran into my arms. We embraced each other tightly with a sense of familiarity and relief. We were already different people at that point and Boston was her new town. I felt uneasy and she did too. Like I was an uninvited guest asked to stay for a dinner party—you know, the guy wedged in the corner, sitting on the folding wooden chair that’s a head lower than everyone else and forced to use a red plastic plate instead of chinaware.
Within minutes of connecting with Chloe, we met up with Fish’s girlfriend and soon the four of us were drinking a bottle of white wine in the Common and snacking on hummus—the first time I’d tried it. (hummus, not wine). We all chatted happily and then parted ways. Chloe and I hoofed it to her dorm where she introduced me to a few of her friends before settling into her room, which had been vacated by her roommate for the weekend—if you know what I mean. (I know you can’t see me, but I’m winking).
Chloe gave me the lowdown on the ancient and supposedly haunted dorm building she was living in. I don’t remember who the main ghost was, or what their general beef was about, but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with a woman who’d been brutally butchered centuries before and not properly laid to rest. Being the only man staying on the all female floor, I had carte blanche of the available men’s room, but became prime target numero uno for disgruntled female poltergeists floor-wide.
That night, I hopped in the shower to scrub away the stench of the other four guys I was crammed into a hatchback with and was immediately met with flickering lights, the shower turning hot and cold and the feeling of being… let’s say, ‘not so alone.’ I thought Chloe’s friends were screwing with me… “Let’s tell him the dorm is haunted and flick the lights on and off while he’s showering.” Yet, when the hairs on my neck sprung up like a soldier at attention, and I tore back the plastic shower curtain with magnified intensity, I found myself most definitely alone. I bounced out of the shower and skated dangerously across the slick, 150 year-old bathroom floor tiles like Brian Boitano on a gold medal day, and into the safety of Chloe’s room. Needless to say, this set an ominous tone for the weekend.
The next day we attacked Boston with a bright-eyed hunger as Chloe gave me the tour. It was a stunningly beautiful day. The air was crisp and the sun was shining—not a cloud in the sky. I was clutching her hand with newfound relationship zeal and I held my head high as I took each street corner like it was the summit of a mountain with a breathtaking view. I was high on life at that moment and I can still remember how I felt that day. And that’s precisely when and why it all went so horribly wrong. I was wearing my heart on my sleeve. My emotions were raw and exposed. I was feeling adventurous, like each step was a step in the right direction and I let my silly-hearted and distorted sense of discovery make a decision that my head normally wouldn’t make.
We were somewhere around the downtown area and were crossing the street when we saw a rather morose man standing on the corner holding up a fairly crude line graph atop a standard brown clipboard. I’m not sure what compelled me to even notice the bearded, troll-like man, but he grumbled and he got my attention. I suppose I could have been honed in by a ‘lost dog’ sign on a telephone pole, or a flyer for guitar lessons, or perhaps donations to free Tibet. But his argument was so compelling, I simply couldn’t resist. With all of the emotion of JC Penny mannequin he mumbled, “Would you be interested in getting a personality rating on a graph like this?” and blandly held the graph up to my face. I know what you’re thinking. This guy could sell sand in the desert.
I can’t be quite sure, but I’m pretty certain my face lit up like a Christmas tree—like I was just told I’d won a million dollars. It just seemed like the most revolutionary thing I could possibly do at that moment. “Sure!” I squealed as I looked at Chloe. She on the other hand was not so enthusiastic. Her face bent into a scowl and shook her head and said, “Noooooooo.” Of course she was right, but I couldn’t be denied. I simply had to do this. Looking back, it was such a dunderheaded thing to do, but I usually chalk up bad decisions as something to experience so that I can write about later on. See! 25+ years later I’m writing about it!
The man told us to follow him and we blindly did—into a corner office building across the street, which was plush with mahogany wood and marble. It looked like it could have been a former bank, or a law office or perhaps a slave whipping station, it wasn’t clear. But the organization was sleek and streamlined. People were working diligently like any other business. Some people were in suits, others more casual. Some were behind desks while others were doing things out of the corners of our eyes. My mind doesn’t recollect, but we usually don’t register these everyday things like people putting papers in filing cabinets, or dissecting cats behind a water cooler. It’s simple, every day stuff. The place was buzzing with sunny day business activity.
We were immediately placed in a separate room—a corner conference room and asked to sit. Chole was jumpier than a one-legged woman in an ass-kicking contest, but I was clueless. I sat in one of the many available plush chairs while our host started up an old-fashioned film projector, like in grade school. He mumbled, “watch this film and I’ll be back in 20 minutes,” and then he left. I remember thinking that 20 minutes was kind of a long time to be stuck in this room on a beautiful day, but then I started watching the screen. The film was a bizarre black and white public service announcement kind of thing, only this was more, I don’t know, bizarrely sanitized. Like I was watching aliens in human costumes pretending to do human things, like washing dishes or walking. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks! Whap! WE’D BEEN CAPTURED BY THE POD PEOPLE AND THEY WERE GOING TO ANAL PROBE US AND USE OUR BODIES AS HOSTS TO COMPLETE THEIR ULTIMATE MISSION OF TAKING OVER THE EARTH!! Or some reasonable facsimile thereof.
The world began closing in on me and I had an “Oh Shit” moment. You know in the movies when they yank the camera back as they pull the focus in? The background zooms out and gets all Vertigo-y and unsettling. That was me, right there. I looked at Chloe who was ready to pop. “Let’s get the hell outta here!” she pleaded. “Yea” I said, grabbing her hand and marching to the door. I snagged the handle and lo and behold, the door was locked! I jiggled it again, but we were most certainly imprisoned. Then I got a twinge of panic. I spun around and went to plan B. Now I was in hero mode. I jerked Chloe towards the window and yanked it open. There was a huge hedge of thick bushes in front of the window, but I was determined to get out of the building and figure out the bushes later. I lifted my leg to stick out the window when the door opened and the bearded man walked in. “What are you doing?” he mumbled. Can you say room camera? They were obviously watching us trying to escape. Chloe whispered a plea for us to leave, but I was already in the middle of a spiel. “What the hell are you doing? Locking us in this room?” He ignored my question and said, “Do you want to take the test now?” as robotically as he’d enticed us in the street.
I don’t remember my response, but as we moved out of the room and back into the main area, I seemed more calm and back in control. The main door to the entrance was wide open as the day was glorious, so it didn’t seem like we were complete prisoners. We could walk out the door at anytime. But for some reason, I wanted to complete the mission at hand and agreed to continue on to the test. I’m not sure why. I’ll never know why. But I guess I finish what I start, which is always a terrible philosophy when you start really dumb activities.
The two of us were separated. I sat at the large wooden desk of a man and Chloe just to my right at the desk of a woman. You’d of thought we were taking out complicated business loans, but we were simply taking a test. A test of what, remained to be seen. The man who was administering my test was a good-looking man. Perhaps in his 30s with dark hair, thin and strong, with a wiry jaw and a stern stare. He slid the test in front of me and gave me a basic overview like “answer as honestly as you can” and “check off the answer that’s most relevant.” The test was multiple choice and had an array of bizarre questions, most of which I can’t remember. Nor do I really remember any of the answer choices that I had to choose from. But I do remember a few. One question in particular that stuck with me (for reasons below) asked, “If you came across a burning building and realized that there were people inside, you would?” I don’t recollect all the answers but they consisted of things like “A. Run inside and save everyone, B. Call the fire department, C. Get someone else to go inside and save everyone… etc. The test took about 20 minutes.
I don’t remember if I finished the test or if it was taken from me after a certain point—sort of S.A.T. style. Years of failing multiple choice exams have blurred into a giant heap of memories at this point. The man placed a clear Lucite sheet with a grid over the test, slid on a pair of spectacles and began to carefully look over the results. I was expecting him to start marking it up with a red sharpie like a schoolteacher. Most of my high school tests were returned to me looking like they’d been in a savage fencing incident and stitched up at the hospital by a one-eyed dermatologist. But the administrator did nothing but simply read and read and read—his facial expression growing grimmer and grimmer until he was in full bore disapproval. He looked up at me and dramatically pulled off his glasses. I thought he was about to tell me I’d been expelled for cheating or plagerism. I gave him a goofy smile and said, “Well, what does it say?”
“What does it say?” he said in disgust. “What does it say?” He leaned back and gathered himself. Then he leaned forward and slid his jaw across his scull like he was auditioning for Tony Montana in the dinner theater version of Scarface. “It says that you are a selfish and disgusting person, that’s what it says!” I blinked a few times. Then I thought for a second or two and blinked some more. Then I furrowed my brow and said, “What the hell did you just say?” He responded, “It says that you are a terrible person and you need some serious help!” “Who the hell are you to say that?!” I said confused. He snatched the test, held it up and poked his finger at it aggressively. “Your answer to the question ‘if you came across a burning building and realized that there were people inside’ you would run inside and save everyone! What are you stupid?”
Now, I’ve been accused of being a bit of hothead once or twice in my life (see: always), but the rage that overtook me at that moment was volcanic. Yea, obviously it’s stupid to run into a burning building, but I was 19! I would have snorted jet fuel and rollerbladed down the side of the Sears Tower at that age. I filled my lungs and screamed, “FUCK YOU,” then turned to Chloe sitting directly off my back right shoulder. I was stunned by what I saw. She was hunched over and in tears—hysterical and sobbing. She was completely and utterly a flood with emotion and incapable of moving. I stood, grabbed her and lifted her out of the chair. “You are a fucking asshole!” I blurted to the man, pointing at him ferociously. Then I turned to the woman that administered Courtney’s test. “And fuck you too!”
Then, the escape towards the door began. It took mere seconds, but felt like a quick sand eternity. The ruckus had drawn the attention of the entire room. The people in the room, the androids, had all stopped and were all standing and facing towards us—their eyes glowing like flashlights (at least that’s how I remember it). The filers had stopped filing papers into the filing cabinets and began creeping slowly towards us—like they’d been pre-programmed to do. The dissectors had stopped dissecting the cats behind the water cooler and began creeping towards us—like they’d been pre-programmed to do. Chloe and I whirled around like the last survivors of a zombie showdown. Our eyes darted about as the 15 or so Scientologist humanoids moved in on us—closer and closer still. Their frowns of disapproval magnified like ten thousand dads after a straight-F report card. The light of the day grew brighter as we eased towards the exit. I made sure none of the programmed humanoids, perhaps one of the henchmen that were assimilating a rectum in the corner, snuck up on us. I ushered Chloe calmly out, and as I was about to step out into the clean free air, I turned and pointed at all the people, their eyes locked in on us Children of the Corn style, and said, “You’re all a bunch of fucking assholes!” and stepped outside into the sweet freedom.
The sun hit my face and was so blinding, I had to shield my eyes. I turned back and looked inside the building entrance, black with shadows and saw nothing but beaming eyes peering out at me. We made it to safety to the opposite corner and peering back again, saw a few of the humanoids come into view as they stepped into the sunlight, leaned against the doorway and watched us walk away—not dissimilar to a gaggle of crazy town folk in some backwoods community, watching the city slickers zoom out of town in their eco-friendly car after a perilously close gang raping.
After that, I don’t remember much. I’m sure a chunk of time shortly after involved me consoling a still emotional Chloe, but I can’t recall much after. I shrugged it off. We may have argued over a lunch spot—she wanted pizza and me something else. I sort of remember going to the water and possibly a quick visit to the aquarium, but not much else. I’m positive I did a few hundred ‘over-the-shoulder’ looks to make sure none of the humanoid pod people were following us. I don’t remember any goodbyes the next day or how Chloe and I left our relationship.
Before I knew it, I was on the T (train) to a meeting spot in the ‘burbs where I’d be picked up and shoehorned into the back seat of the hatchback with four guys on a return trip to Syracuse. I listened to the new Living Colour album, Time’s Up, over and over till we returned back to our dorm. Chloe and I broke up a few days later.
Like I said, as the years went on I told the story randomly at parties and in social situations—almost always when someone brought up the subject of Scientology. But after a while I stopped bringing it up and placed it away in that hot attic spot in the corner of my mind. Back then it seemed like a much more grim situation. Scientology’s popularity was a bit different in those days. The relation between Dianetics, L Ron Hubbard’s self help way-of-life book, and Scientology were not immediately connected to the uninitiated. Throughout the mid to late 80s, a Dianetics Book commercial was on every other minute, but the word Scientology didn’t become a household term till sometime around the early 90s.
When this incident happened to Chloe and I, Scientology still had a cult-like status. The word evoked thoughts of David Koresh and crazy freaks holing up in compounds with weapons or god knows what. When I first told this story to people, many were aghast. Some people were shocked and even disturbed by the story. Now Scientology has evolved into something of a punchline. And even though it has become the ire of the public (it’s less popular than atheism), it seems ingrained in the public conscious more than anytime in its history—most of that due to movie star members such as Tom Cruise and John Travolta, among others.
Perhaps this story has lost the power that it once had because things are different now. Maybe if this incident happened today it would cause more of a stir. Maybe it would be less of a big deal. I don’t know. Getting locked in a room by strangers is cause for alarm and with the way of the world today, it’d probably be within my rights to go postal on each and every one of them and use terrorism as an excuse. I don’t know. All I know for sure is that it’s bad business to call people you’d like to recruit into your church ‘stupid’ and yell at them for being a child.
Chloe and I remain very good friends to this day. When I called and told her that I was going to write about this long-since-dormant incident on my blog, she told me she still has flashbacks from the experience. I’m not sure what Scientology’s recruiting techniques are today, over two decades later, but I would hope that they’re a bit more friendly and inviting. I sincerely doubt it though.
I know. Your palms are sweating already, aren’t they?
The year was 1990, and after a few sweltering hot months to start off the fall semester at Syracuse University, my buddy and roommate Fish and I decided to hitch a ride to Boston with some friends for a little weekend R&R. He was going to see his girlfriend and I was going to see my high school sweetheart who was now schooling at Emerson University. To protect the innocent and faint of heart, let’s call her… Chloe. Fish and I crammed ourselves into the potato chip laden backseat of a hatchback with three other guys and made a bee-line to Beantown where Chloe’s dorm was planted near the Boston Common that had a fantastic direct visual line to Fenway Park and the famous Citgo sign.
Chloe and I hadn’t really talked since we parted for school and the lack of communication between us (mostly by me) had built an awkward tension. I know you’re shocked to hear this, but men (especially 19 year-old men) tend to clam-up when they’re unable to properly explain their feelings—particularly about the future of relationships. When I first saw her in the street after months apart, she smiled sadly and ran into my arms. We embraced each other tightly with a sense of familiarity and relief. We were already different people at that point and Boston was her new town. I felt uneasy and she did too. Like I was an uninvited guest asked to stay for a dinner party—you know, the guy wedged in the corner, sitting on the folding wooden chair that’s a head lower than everyone else and forced to use a red plastic plate instead of chinaware.
Within minutes of connecting with Chloe, we met up with Fish’s girlfriend and soon the four of us were drinking a bottle of white wine in the Common and snacking on hummus—the first time I’d tried it. (hummus, not wine). We all chatted happily and then parted ways. Chloe and I hoofed it to her dorm where she introduced me to a few of her friends before settling into her room, which had been vacated by her roommate for the weekend—if you know what I mean. (I know you can’t see me, but I’m winking).
Chloe gave me the lowdown on the ancient and supposedly haunted dorm building she was living in. I don’t remember who the main ghost was, or what their general beef was about, but I’m pretty sure it had something to do with a woman who’d been brutally butchered centuries before and not properly laid to rest. Being the only man staying on the all female floor, I had carte blanche of the available men’s room, but became prime target numero uno for disgruntled female poltergeists floor-wide.
That night, I hopped in the shower to scrub away the stench of the other four guys I was crammed into a hatchback with and was immediately met with flickering lights, the shower turning hot and cold and the feeling of being… let’s say, ‘not so alone.’ I thought Chloe’s friends were screwing with me… “Let’s tell him the dorm is haunted and flick the lights on and off while he’s showering.” Yet, when the hairs on my neck sprung up like a soldier at attention, and I tore back the plastic shower curtain with magnified intensity, I found myself most definitely alone. I bounced out of the shower and skated dangerously across the slick, 150 year-old bathroom floor tiles like Brian Boitano on a gold medal day, and into the safety of Chloe’s room. Needless to say, this set an ominous tone for the weekend.
The next day we attacked Boston with a bright-eyed hunger as Chloe gave me the tour. It was a stunningly beautiful day. The air was crisp and the sun was shining—not a cloud in the sky. I was clutching her hand with newfound relationship zeal and I held my head high as I took each street corner like it was the summit of a mountain with a breathtaking view. I was high on life at that moment and I can still remember how I felt that day. And that’s precisely when and why it all went so horribly wrong. I was wearing my heart on my sleeve. My emotions were raw and exposed. I was feeling adventurous, like each step was a step in the right direction and I let my silly-hearted and distorted sense of discovery make a decision that my head normally wouldn’t make.
We were somewhere around the downtown area and were crossing the street when we saw a rather morose man standing on the corner holding up a fairly crude line graph atop a standard brown clipboard. I’m not sure what compelled me to even notice the bearded, troll-like man, but he grumbled and he got my attention. I suppose I could have been honed in by a ‘lost dog’ sign on a telephone pole, or a flyer for guitar lessons, or perhaps donations to free Tibet. But his argument was so compelling, I simply couldn’t resist. With all of the emotion of JC Penny mannequin he mumbled, “Would you be interested in getting a personality rating on a graph like this?” and blandly held the graph up to my face. I know what you’re thinking. This guy could sell sand in the desert.
I can’t be quite sure, but I’m pretty certain my face lit up like a Christmas tree—like I was just told I’d won a million dollars. It just seemed like the most revolutionary thing I could possibly do at that moment. “Sure!” I squealed as I looked at Chloe. She on the other hand was not so enthusiastic. Her face bent into a scowl and shook her head and said, “Noooooooo.” Of course she was right, but I couldn’t be denied. I simply had to do this. Looking back, it was such a dunderheaded thing to do, but I usually chalk up bad decisions as something to experience so that I can write about later on. See! 25+ years later I’m writing about it!
The man told us to follow him and we blindly did—into a corner office building across the street, which was plush with mahogany wood and marble. It looked like it could have been a former bank, or a law office or perhaps a slave whipping station, it wasn’t clear. But the organization was sleek and streamlined. People were working diligently like any other business. Some people were in suits, others more casual. Some were behind desks while others were doing things out of the corners of our eyes. My mind doesn’t recollect, but we usually don’t register these everyday things like people putting papers in filing cabinets, or dissecting cats behind a water cooler. It’s simple, every day stuff. The place was buzzing with sunny day business activity.
We were immediately placed in a separate room—a corner conference room and asked to sit. Chole was jumpier than a one-legged woman in an ass-kicking contest, but I was clueless. I sat in one of the many available plush chairs while our host started up an old-fashioned film projector, like in grade school. He mumbled, “watch this film and I’ll be back in 20 minutes,” and then he left. I remember thinking that 20 minutes was kind of a long time to be stuck in this room on a beautiful day, but then I started watching the screen. The film was a bizarre black and white public service announcement kind of thing, only this was more, I don’t know, bizarrely sanitized. Like I was watching aliens in human costumes pretending to do human things, like washing dishes or walking. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks! Whap! WE’D BEEN CAPTURED BY THE POD PEOPLE AND THEY WERE GOING TO ANAL PROBE US AND USE OUR BODIES AS HOSTS TO COMPLETE THEIR ULTIMATE MISSION OF TAKING OVER THE EARTH!! Or some reasonable facsimile thereof.
The world began closing in on me and I had an “Oh Shit” moment. You know in the movies when they yank the camera back as they pull the focus in? The background zooms out and gets all Vertigo-y and unsettling. That was me, right there. I looked at Chloe who was ready to pop. “Let’s get the hell outta here!” she pleaded. “Yea” I said, grabbing her hand and marching to the door. I snagged the handle and lo and behold, the door was locked! I jiggled it again, but we were most certainly imprisoned. Then I got a twinge of panic. I spun around and went to plan B. Now I was in hero mode. I jerked Chloe towards the window and yanked it open. There was a huge hedge of thick bushes in front of the window, but I was determined to get out of the building and figure out the bushes later. I lifted my leg to stick out the window when the door opened and the bearded man walked in. “What are you doing?” he mumbled. Can you say room camera? They were obviously watching us trying to escape. Chloe whispered a plea for us to leave, but I was already in the middle of a spiel. “What the hell are you doing? Locking us in this room?” He ignored my question and said, “Do you want to take the test now?” as robotically as he’d enticed us in the street.
I don’t remember my response, but as we moved out of the room and back into the main area, I seemed more calm and back in control. The main door to the entrance was wide open as the day was glorious, so it didn’t seem like we were complete prisoners. We could walk out the door at anytime. But for some reason, I wanted to complete the mission at hand and agreed to continue on to the test. I’m not sure why. I’ll never know why. But I guess I finish what I start, which is always a terrible philosophy when you start really dumb activities.
The two of us were separated. I sat at the large wooden desk of a man and Chloe just to my right at the desk of a woman. You’d of thought we were taking out complicated business loans, but we were simply taking a test. A test of what, remained to be seen. The man who was administering my test was a good-looking man. Perhaps in his 30s with dark hair, thin and strong, with a wiry jaw and a stern stare. He slid the test in front of me and gave me a basic overview like “answer as honestly as you can” and “check off the answer that’s most relevant.” The test was multiple choice and had an array of bizarre questions, most of which I can’t remember. Nor do I really remember any of the answer choices that I had to choose from. But I do remember a few. One question in particular that stuck with me (for reasons below) asked, “If you came across a burning building and realized that there were people inside, you would?” I don’t recollect all the answers but they consisted of things like “A. Run inside and save everyone, B. Call the fire department, C. Get someone else to go inside and save everyone… etc. The test took about 20 minutes.
I don’t remember if I finished the test or if it was taken from me after a certain point—sort of S.A.T. style. Years of failing multiple choice exams have blurred into a giant heap of memories at this point. The man placed a clear Lucite sheet with a grid over the test, slid on a pair of spectacles and began to carefully look over the results. I was expecting him to start marking it up with a red sharpie like a schoolteacher. Most of my high school tests were returned to me looking like they’d been in a savage fencing incident and stitched up at the hospital by a one-eyed dermatologist. But the administrator did nothing but simply read and read and read—his facial expression growing grimmer and grimmer until he was in full bore disapproval. He looked up at me and dramatically pulled off his glasses. I thought he was about to tell me I’d been expelled for cheating or plagerism. I gave him a goofy smile and said, “Well, what does it say?”
“What does it say?” he said in disgust. “What does it say?” He leaned back and gathered himself. Then he leaned forward and slid his jaw across his scull like he was auditioning for Tony Montana in the dinner theater version of Scarface. “It says that you are a selfish and disgusting person, that’s what it says!” I blinked a few times. Then I thought for a second or two and blinked some more. Then I furrowed my brow and said, “What the hell did you just say?” He responded, “It says that you are a terrible person and you need some serious help!” “Who the hell are you to say that?!” I said confused. He snatched the test, held it up and poked his finger at it aggressively. “Your answer to the question ‘if you came across a burning building and realized that there were people inside’ you would run inside and save everyone! What are you stupid?”
Now, I’ve been accused of being a bit of hothead once or twice in my life (see: always), but the rage that overtook me at that moment was volcanic. Yea, obviously it’s stupid to run into a burning building, but I was 19! I would have snorted jet fuel and rollerbladed down the side of the Sears Tower at that age. I filled my lungs and screamed, “FUCK YOU,” then turned to Chloe sitting directly off my back right shoulder. I was stunned by what I saw. She was hunched over and in tears—hysterical and sobbing. She was completely and utterly a flood with emotion and incapable of moving. I stood, grabbed her and lifted her out of the chair. “You are a fucking asshole!” I blurted to the man, pointing at him ferociously. Then I turned to the woman that administered Courtney’s test. “And fuck you too!”
Then, the escape towards the door began. It took mere seconds, but felt like a quick sand eternity. The ruckus had drawn the attention of the entire room. The people in the room, the androids, had all stopped and were all standing and facing towards us—their eyes glowing like flashlights (at least that’s how I remember it). The filers had stopped filing papers into the filing cabinets and began creeping slowly towards us—like they’d been pre-programmed to do. The dissectors had stopped dissecting the cats behind the water cooler and began creeping towards us—like they’d been pre-programmed to do. Chloe and I whirled around like the last survivors of a zombie showdown. Our eyes darted about as the 15 or so Scientologist humanoids moved in on us—closer and closer still. Their frowns of disapproval magnified like ten thousand dads after a straight-F report card. The light of the day grew brighter as we eased towards the exit. I made sure none of the programmed humanoids, perhaps one of the henchmen that were assimilating a rectum in the corner, snuck up on us. I ushered Chloe calmly out, and as I was about to step out into the clean free air, I turned and pointed at all the people, their eyes locked in on us Children of the Corn style, and said, “You’re all a bunch of fucking assholes!” and stepped outside into the sweet freedom.
The sun hit my face and was so blinding, I had to shield my eyes. I turned back and looked inside the building entrance, black with shadows and saw nothing but beaming eyes peering out at me. We made it to safety to the opposite corner and peering back again, saw a few of the humanoids come into view as they stepped into the sunlight, leaned against the doorway and watched us walk away—not dissimilar to a gaggle of crazy town folk in some backwoods community, watching the city slickers zoom out of town in their eco-friendly car after a perilously close gang raping.
After that, I don’t remember much. I’m sure a chunk of time shortly after involved me consoling a still emotional Chloe, but I can’t recall much after. I shrugged it off. We may have argued over a lunch spot—she wanted pizza and me something else. I sort of remember going to the water and possibly a quick visit to the aquarium, but not much else. I’m positive I did a few hundred ‘over-the-shoulder’ looks to make sure none of the humanoid pod people were following us. I don’t remember any goodbyes the next day or how Chloe and I left our relationship.
Before I knew it, I was on the T (train) to a meeting spot in the ‘burbs where I’d be picked up and shoehorned into the back seat of the hatchback with four guys on a return trip to Syracuse. I listened to the new Living Colour album, Time’s Up, over and over till we returned back to our dorm. Chloe and I broke up a few days later.
Like I said, as the years went on I told the story randomly at parties and in social situations—almost always when someone brought up the subject of Scientology. But after a while I stopped bringing it up and placed it away in that hot attic spot in the corner of my mind. Back then it seemed like a much more grim situation. Scientology’s popularity was a bit different in those days. The relation between Dianetics, L Ron Hubbard’s self help way-of-life book, and Scientology were not immediately connected to the uninitiated. Throughout the mid to late 80s, a Dianetics Book commercial was on every other minute, but the word Scientology didn’t become a household term till sometime around the early 90s.
When this incident happened to Chloe and I, Scientology still had a cult-like status. The word evoked thoughts of David Koresh and crazy freaks holing up in compounds with weapons or god knows what. When I first told this story to people, many were aghast. Some people were shocked and even disturbed by the story. Now Scientology has evolved into something of a punchline. And even though it has become the ire of the public (it’s less popular than atheism), it seems ingrained in the public conscious more than anytime in its history—most of that due to movie star members such as Tom Cruise and John Travolta, among others.
Perhaps this story has lost the power that it once had because things are different now. Maybe if this incident happened today it would cause more of a stir. Maybe it would be less of a big deal. I don’t know. Getting locked in a room by strangers is cause for alarm and with the way of the world today, it’d probably be within my rights to go postal on each and every one of them and use terrorism as an excuse. I don’t know. All I know for sure is that it’s bad business to call people you’d like to recruit into your church ‘stupid’ and yell at them for being a child.
Chloe and I remain very good friends to this day. When I called and told her that I was going to write about this long-since-dormant incident on my blog, she told me she still has flashbacks from the experience. I’m not sure what Scientology’s recruiting techniques are today, over two decades later, but I would hope that they’re a bit more friendly and inviting. I sincerely doubt it though.